


Outtakes

by Alliterative_Albatross



Series: Better Love [11]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'll add more tags as I update this, Outtakes, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:33:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliterative_Albatross/pseuds/Alliterative_Albatross
Summary: Little bits and snippets from the Better Love series that just don't fit anywhere else.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader
Series: Better Love [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073882
Comments: 18
Kudos: 28





	1. Azafatas

**Author's Note:**

> Just little plotless bits and pieces that slot in somewhere between fics. I've got several of these planned, and I'll make sure the chapters are arranged in chronological order (no promise to post them that way, though). 
> 
> Thanks for tolerating me, dudes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after Aftershocks.

You bite back a yawn, kicking your feet contentedly on Javi’s coffee table as you watch him gather your new deck of cards in his hands. 

Once Javi’d gotten the hang of double solitaire, he’d played ruthlessly, showing you no mercy, slapping his empty hands on the table with great joy each time he’d run out of cards. Still, it’d been a close match, and in the end, he’d beat you three games to two. 

“You knew this would happen, _mi reina,”_ he’d smirked, completely unrepentant. 

That’s not entirely true. Double solitaire is 90% luck of the draw, luck that Javi has in spades, it seems. And to be fair, you hadn’t been quite yourself. Sitting next to him on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder and skin to skin only serves to drive home the staggering new arrangement that you’ve found yourself in. That, for the moment, at least, you’re sharing his home. 

His bed. 

Which reminds you…

“Hey, Javi?” you ask through another yawn.

“Hmm?” Javi’s focused intently on flipping all of your cards face side down, half-heartedly shuffling them before sliding them neatly into their little plastic sleeve. His brow is furrowed adorably, that one errant curl falling across his forehead in a way that tempts you to brush your fingers through his hair. 

“What’s _azafatas_ mean?” You just can’t shake that dirty little book - and the idea of bedroom Spanish - from your mind. 

Javi glances up, the full force of his concentration now directed squarely at you. “Flight attendants?” he asks, more than tells you, as if he hadn’t quite heard you right. 

_Oh._

You giggle a little, so, so grateful that you had asked. You decide that your bedroom Spanish needs some serious work before you can break it out for Javier Peña. 

Still, though, so much of that book makes sense now. “Hot,” you whisper under your breath, nodding appreciatively at the memory. 

“Ears, what?” Javi’s working his jaw now like he doesn’t know quite what to say, looking at you in open bewilderment. 

It’s not often that you catch Javier Peña puzzled, and you pause for a moment, appreciating the view. “Don’t worry about it,” you say after a minute. 

Again, that deeply furrowed brow. “Okay,” he mutters in a voice that’s damn near _petulant_. 

You grant him a cryptic grin in response. 

An hour and two showers later, Javi is clearly still worried about it.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for flight attendants,” he muses as you fall into bed together. 

You can’t help it. You snort. “I didn’t, either.”

Javi huffs a deep, exasperated sigh as you flip off the lamp. 


	2. The Stipend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follow up to Stechner's little housing stipend comment in Yours chapter two.

Bill’s got his feet kicked up on his desk when you slip into his office at 8:05 on Monday morning. 

“You’re late,” he drawls, flopping down the newspaper he’s reading with a flourish. 

You wave him off, recognizing that there’s no real malice in his tone. “Didn’t realize you had me on the books,” you answer, plopping down in the chair opposite of him. 

Bill cocks a promoting brow at you, clearly egging you on. 

“Okay, fine, I got cornered by Jacoby,” you admit, planting both feet firmly on the floor and squaring your shoulders. You hit Bill with a demure expression, your tone dripping with detached professionalism. “You wanted to see me, boss?”

“Gross,” Bill scowls. “Don’t ever do it again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bill snorts at that, kicking his feet back onto the floor and spinning his chair so that he’s facing you fully. Despite the banter, something swoops in your stomach when you remember why you’re here. “So, about this housing situation,” he says, leaning on his elbows over the desk. “I’ve been doing some digging, Ears.” He pins you with a pointed look. “Seems to me like you didn’t have many choices when you came here.”

You force yourself to keep from squirming. “The flat I was offered was a 35 minute drive from headquarters,” you admit carefully. “And I don’t have a vehicle.”

“Ah.” Bill’s brows raise, and he purses his lips. “So you took the stipend.”

You nod. “Torres knew a friend who went to school with a girl who’s dad had a flat…” you trail off, shrugging wryly. “You know how it is.”

Bill huffs a laugh, shaking his head a little. That knowing look in his eyes confirms that yes, he knows exactly how it is. 

“And it wasn’t too far to walk.”

Bill shoots you a sharp glance. “You really shouldn’t be walking in Bogotá at all, Ears.”

You bite back a sigh. Javi has said the same thing several times, usually right before he leaves for overnight trips to Medellín. “A necessary evil, Bill.” 

You’re always careful.

“Well.” Bill sits up, clicking his tongue at you. “Since things have changed, I decided to do you a little favor.”

You catch a breath, wondering just what kind of a favor Bill is offering here. You’ve really warmed to your arrangement with Javi. “Oh?”

“Yup.” Bill looks very pleased with himself. “I’m raising your housing allowance, Ears. Your previous stipend didn’t give you much to work with in the way of options.” Bill looks very grim for a moment. You think it might be put on. “And we can’t have that, can we?”

Your pulse rushes in your ears. Is Bill saying what you think he’s saying? “How much?” 

“I think five will do.”

“Five,” you echo dumbly. 

Bill leans forward again. “Five hundred dollars,” he says slowly, clearly enjoying spelling this out for you. “A month.”

You blink. 

Bill cranks back, his chair creaking ominously beneath him. “Of course, you’re free to use that money to make whatever arrangements you see fit.” He folds his hands smugly behind his head, and you could swear for just a second that he winks at you.

You’re not sure, though. Your mind is spinning a thousand miles a minute. You’d assumed that Bill had called you in here to reprimand you for moving in with Javi, or to at least firmly suggest an alternative. Instead, he’d pretty much given you explicit permission to sleep wherever the fuck you want. 

He’d given you a raise, too. A nice one.

“Do you have any questions?” Bill’s voice draws you from your thoughts, his expression all patient concern. 

“No, s-” you cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “No, Bill. Thank you.”

“No worries.” Bill blows you off, shaking out his newspaper. “Now get out of my office, Ears.”

It doesn’t occur to you until later that you owe Bill Stechner a big, big favor.


	3. King Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You tell Javi a story.

Javier winds his fingers contentedly through your curls. Basking in the afterglow of really amazing sex is something that he never knew he needed.

It’s nice.

You arch into his touch and sigh beneath your breath. It reminds Javier of a puppy leaning in for a good scratch, and the thought makes him smile.

“Tell me a story, baby,” he whispers, brushing his lips against your forehead in a gentle kiss.

You crane your neck to glance at him, confusion written all over your face. Javier bites back a snort. It was a random request. But Javier doesn’t get to spend near enough time with you as it is. There’s so much more for him to learn, and he wants to hear it all.

You break into a slow, teasing smile. “What kind of story?”

Javier shrugs. “Anything.”

Your expression sharpens, your eyes dancing. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole…”

Javier bumps you gently with his elbow. It’s pretty impressive that you can quote Tolkien off the top of your head like that. Javier knows you could go on forever, but you’re just baiting him, and fantasies aren’t what he’s after tonight. “I want to hear about you, babe,” he prompts. “Not dirty wet holes.”

You shoot him a put-on, petulant frown. “You have zero appreciation for good literature, Javi. Zero.”

“Nerd,” Javier claps back, completely unapologetic.

You both laugh.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, flopping over so that your cheek is resting on Javier’s chest. “Seriously, babe. What do you want to hear?”

Javier thinks on it for a second. “Something I don’t know.” He squeezes you a little tighter.

You bluster through your lips. “Umm…” Javier allows you to take your time, rubbing little circles on the bare skin of your back with his palm. “Have I ever told you about my first king cake?”

“King cake?”

“Yeah, it’s a Mardi Gras thing. I didn’t know anything about them until we moved to Louisiana.”

Javier blinks. Mamá was a devout catholic, so he’s pretty familiar with the concept of Lent, but he’s always vaguely associated Mardi Gras with beads and parades and copious amounts of liquor. “Tell me about them.”

“Okay, so they’re kind of like an iced jelly roll, right? But round, and much bigger, and covered in sprinkles.” You sit up, elaborating with your hands to indicate the size of the thing, and Javier leans back against the headboard in fascination. Half the fun of asking you for a story is to watch you tell it. “Lots of sprinkles, like green and yellow and purple. It looks a little sketch, but trust me, they’re great. There’s tons of different flavors, not just jelly. I kind of like the cream cheese ones.”

Javier hums. That does sound good.

“So, Dad got transferred to a base in Louisiana when I was about fourteen. Danny worked a part time job shelling crawfish, and sometimes I’d tag along after school, make some pocket change.” You shudder a little, and Javier remembers that you’re pretty weird about eating crab and lobster. He wonders if this aversion extends to all crustaceans, and if it has its roots here.

“One afternoon, all of the guys were crowded around in the kitchen. Danny called me over and told me I needed to try this thing called king cake.” You shake your head at the memory. “He’d already cut me a slice. That was my first mistake.”

Javier grimaces. You don’t talk much about about your family, but Javier’s heard enough to know that your oldest brother was a real piece of work.

“So I wolfed it down pretty quick. It’s cake, you know?”

Javier does know.

“I never even noticed how the entire group was just staring at me, watching me eat.”

Oh, shit.

“About halfway through, I started choking. There was something hard in the back of my throat, so I started hacking and coughing, making a big mess.” You snort wryly. “It was pretty gross. And probably pretty funny.”

Okay, to be fair, Javier can vividly imagine this scene, and he is tempted to laugh at the image that comes to mind. Clearly, you’d survived.

“And you’ll never guess what I spit into my hand.” You turn to face him, intrigue sparkling in your eyes, and Javier braces himself for a massive plot twist, ready for fucking anything.

“It was a little plastic baby.”

Oh. Something niggles in the back of Javier’s mind, a long forgotten tradition that Abuela had abandoned when Abeulo passed on. Javier hasn’t thought about Día de Reyes in years. He smiles. You have more in common than he’d thought.

He likes that.

You’re grinning widely now, clearly warming to the idea of story time. “It looked a lot like one of those model fetuses that planned parenthood hands out. That’s what I thought it was, anyway. I was fucking livid, too. I held it up, and that’s when I noticed everybody in the room had their eyes glued to me, were clearly waiting for me to inhale this thing.” You throw your hands wildly in the air, obviously reliving some intense frustration. “I looked straight at Danny, the dickwad, and I said, ‘What the actual fuck is a fetus doing in my cake?’”

Javier snorts. He can just hear a tiny, irate Ears demanding answers from a group of grown ass men, and he adores you for it.

“The entire group just died laughing.” You roll your eyes. “It took a while for them to shut up and explain, but it turns out, the baby is supposed to go _on top_ of the cake. It represents baby Jesus, and the person who finds it is responsible for purchasing the next king cake.”

Javier’s smile brightens. Yeah, he’s familiar with the plastic Jesus. Buying the next cake is a new twist, though.

You continue, oblivious, and Javier listens attentively, eager to hear how things had played out. “But Danny had found the baby and hidden it inside my slice, just being an asshole.” You smirk devilishly. “The eventual consensus was, it was his turn to buy, not mine. When he whined about it, the manager took the cost out of his paycheck.”

Javier nods in satisfaction. “Good.” Justice was served that day. 

You lean back against his shoulder, looking contemplatively off into the distance. “I was just thinking the other day that I haven’t had a king cake in a while. Guess they’ve been on my mind.”

Javier isn’t sorry for this at all. “Maybe we could make one,” he suggests. He’d like try your version, and more than that, it’s something that’s a part of you. Something he’d like to share.

You snort. “Yeah, because that went so well last time.”

“I thought it turned out okay.” Not your actual birthday cake, that had been an unmitigated disaster. But Javier had really enjoyed the flour fight that had erupted in the kitchen, and the antics that had taken place afterward on the countertop. He imagines making another gigantic mess with you, dumping purple sprinkles in your hair, licking smeared cream cheese from your cheek.

Yeah, a king cake sounds like a great idea.

You look at him wide-eyed. “You mean that?” Your voice is soft with hesitation.

Javier wraps an arm around you and pulls you close. He’s not sure what’s got you feeling suddenly vulnerable, but he doesn’t fucking like it. “I do,” he tells you, leaning in for a kiss. “I really, really do.”

Suddenly, you push him back and crawl into his lap, gathering his hair in your hands and kissing him deeply. Again, Javier’s not sure where this sudden mood shift has come from, but he goes with it, plundering your mouth with his tongue, humming in satisfaction when he coaxes a broken little moan from deep in your throat.

“Thank you,” you sigh against him, grinding your hips deliciously against his thigh.

It’s unclear to Javier what you’re thanking him for, but he doesn’t much care, not if it induces this reaction from you. “Sure,” he says, flipping you suddenly to your back, careful to cradle your head as he does.

You beat against him, more playful than anything, but that only encourages Javier to pin your arms to the mattress. You throw your head back against the pillow, and Javier takes the opportunity to ravage your neck, living for the soft sighs that escape you as he does.

He’s pretty sure he’s got another round in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Javier is referencing Rosca, a traditional latin pastry eaten around christmas time. His version is more like a fruit cake, but there's still a little Jesus tucked away in there somewhere.
> 
> Sorry I had to repost this one, guys.


End file.
